


The Time Travel One

by Judayre



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7687945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judayre/pseuds/Judayre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin's death at the Battle of Five Armies cannot be changed.  Bilbo has tried every way he can think of.  But maybe there's another way they can be together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bilbo Baggins was more tired than he thought anyone could understand - save perhaps Lady Galadriel, or Gandalf.

He had lived longer than his fair share, stretched through time by his magic Ring. The Ring that turned out to be the Dark Lord’s One and had taken poor young Frodo through worse dangers than any should have to endure. In the end, they were brought across the sea to the Undying Lands. Fair name, but time wasn’t stopped there and Bilbo found himself at death’s door soon enough, his mind wandering through his life and settling, as always, at fifty. It was the year he felt he had lived most fully, and if he could have changed the ending of his adventure, he would have gladly done so.

He woke up fifty years old in Bag End.

Had it all been a dream? he wondered, or was this the dream. It felt real, but so had what came before. Trying to puzzle it out took him through breakfast and out to the bench for a smoke. After a time, there was a shadow over him and he looked up to see Gandalf - but Gandalf as he hadn’t seen him for what felt like ages. This was Gandalf the Grey, his wrinkled face kindly and common, not the general that Gandalf the White was.

Everything was tumult in Bilbo’s head and all he could do was gasp out “good morning!”

The conversation that ensued was little like the one he remembered. He was prepared when the Dwarves began to arrive. He exulted to see them, healthy, young, so hopeful, so beautiful. He greeted them, the burglar they’d been led to expect, and they looked at maps and prepared for their journey.

He led them a different route away from the Trolls. They avoided the Goblins in the mountains. They skirted Mirkwood as they’d intended and reached the mountain at full strength and with no promises made in dire straits to any. Bilbo found the Arkenstone and gave it to Thorin.

And then word went out that a King was Under the Mountain. Bilbo couldn’t stop the battle, but he fought at Thorin’s side as long as he could. They fell together, and died in one another’s arms. Bilbo felt the moment Thorin’s strong hand fell lax before he succumbed as well.

He woke up in his bed in Bag End.

In the ensuing lives, he did everything he could think of to try and save Thorin. He haggled for changes in the contract, tried to get the right to speak for them. He skirted obstacles he remembered, although they often found them anyway. He used the Ring as he knew he shouldn’t. He snuck out ahead before they’d come to try and smooth the way. Sometimes he gave Thorin the Arkenstone, sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes they were able to kill Smaug in their own, sometimes they weren’t.

Some things worked, others didn’t. There were always hardships of one kind or another, but they weathered most of them. Once, he tried to bargain with Smaug, but that went as well as could be expected. At least once he refused to go. Left the door locked to them, let his neighbor’s call the shirriffs on the rowdy lot. Perhaps with only the unlucky thirteen they would stay where it was safe.

Alas, he heard later that they had not.

Sometimes he lived through it, sometimes not. Over time, he came to view those untimely deaths in Erebor kindly. It had been hard enough to live without Thorin the first time. Going through it again and again was an ache in his chest that time could never heal.

Sometimes he avoided the Ring. Once, his life seeming stretched from his soul’s long exposure to the Ring whether he had it or not, he witnessed the Nazgul ride down in full strength to subjugate the Shire. The world outside was already dark. He didn’t put up the fight he might have, and died trying to defend against the inevitable.

Once he stayed coldly aloof from all of them - perhaps a professional distance would give his words and actions more weight. It didn’t matter in the end, and he cried over Thorin’s corpse, cursing the wasted time.

Once he seduced Thorin from the start - fell into bed with him in Bag End before they went anywhere. The continued on the road, sharing passion. And as time went on, they shared soft touches as well, whispered soft words of hope, and of their hearts. Bilbo had hopes that this would make the gold sickness less, make things easier. Thorin locked him in when he went to battle. He never returned.

He told them once about his foreknowledge. It made Thorin too careful at the stat and too reckless at the end. He told Thorin about it later the next time, but Thorin laughed and disbelieved it. He kept it quiet after that.

The time he woke varied after a while. If he woke younger, he would try and find ways to make the Shire into a home for the Dwarves - to show them that they didn’t need to brave a dragon to find a home. Memories of Erebor always won in the end.

And so it went, life after life, variation after variation. Sometimes Fíli lived, or Kíli. Rarely both of them. And never Thorin. No matter what Bilbo tried, there always seemed to be a reason to battle in front of the ruined gates of Erebor. There was always a sword for Thorin.

He was tired. More tired than he had thought one person could be. He had felt stretched thin at eleventy-one, and this was so much more. He didn’t know how long he had lived, all told, how many lifetimes he had seen through to their end. And he had just woken again….


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo wakes up.

was young, he knew. He had learned to tell age by feel. And he wasn’t in Bag End - he would have been more comfortable if he was. But he couldn’t recall a time he hadn’t started in his home, so he opened his eyes in confusion. Opened them straight into eyes of the deepest blue, eyes that caught and held him and should not have been there so soon.

“You’re awake.” The voice was the same as well. But this– Thorin, it had to be Thorin! - was far too young. He didn’t seem far older than Fíli and Kíli. “We found you on the road.”

“Yes, thank you,” Bilbo said, mind reeling as he tried to think of what was going on now. “Passed out from hunger. Haven’t eaten in…” How long could people go without eating? “Almost a day.”

Thorin’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his lips twitched. “A long time indeed,” he said, and Bilbo could hear the laughter in his voice. It was beautiful, even if it was at his expense. “Perhaps that is why most Hobbits remain in their home.”

“I’ll have you know that when I’m not distracted by being lost and without anything packed” - a good explanation for why he had no idea where he was and had nothing with him - “I’m as good at finding food in the wild as any Hobbit. Better than most, Master–” He stopped himself before he said a name he shouldn’t know.

“Thorin,” the Dwarf answered reluctantly. Bilbo raised his brows and kept looking at him, because who had ever heard of a Dwarf introducing himself with only one name? “…Oakenshield,” he finished, the name seeming dragged out of him. He closed his mouth determinedly before he could be made to say anything about being at Bilbo’s service.

“Master Oakenshield,” Bilbo said, pretending he hadn’t noticed anything wrong. “And I’m Bilbo Baggins.” Should he have given that name? It was his, after all. But likely he hadn’t even been born yet (this life was so confusing), and he didn’t know if his parents were even married. “Although, as a rule Bagginses don’t travel,” he added quickly, “so I’m sure they’ll all pretend not to know who I am if you mention the name in the Shire. Still, there’s bound to be another with the name sooner or later.”

Thorin’s look of shock was so distracting that he nearly missed catching the waterskin thrown his way. “Thanks, Master Dwa–rf,” he said, fumbling it and nearly saying another name he shouldn’t know. He took a long drink and found that Dwarf supplies were as good as he remembered them.

“Dwalin son of Fundin, at your service” came the reply, making the stilted introduction from Thorin that much more out of place.

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours and your family’s,” Bilbo replied. “Especially for this,” he added, giving the waterskin a light shake before drinking more.

Dwalin grunted. “There’s a town not too far. We can get you there and you can be off to whatever your destination is.”

Bilbo examined the waterskin, considering how he could answer. “I’ve no destination in mind,” he said slowly. “Perhaps I’ll just follow you? I did say I was at your service, and I must owe you something for picking me up off the road like this.” His voice sped near the end, because he knew Thorin (not this Thorin! not this child who looked to be missing half the life of the man Bilbo knew!).

“We are going all the way to Ered Luin,” Thorin answered. “My sister is with child and needs us,” he added, pride in his family coloring his voice.

“Sister!” Bilbo exclaimed, and this time the surprise was true. He knew Thorin had a sister - Fíli and Kíli had a mother, after all! - but in all his lifetimes he had scarcely ever met Dís.

“Did you think Dwarves leapt fully formed from the earth?” Dwalin asked in a mocking tone.

“You never see Dwarf women,” Bilbo protested.

“Or perhaps you just don’t recognize them behind their magnificent beards.”

Dwalin stroked his own and Bilbo goggled at him. Dwalin was implying… But they would have said! Wouldn’t they? He wracked his brain, trying to think if he’d seen Dwalin bathe with them during the journey and if he had had cock or nest. But his eyes had been all on Thorin, when he wasn’t covering them because of his own modesty, so he couldn’t say for certain.

Dwalin didn’t give a sure answer one way or the other, turning to check their packs and ponies. Thorin was smirking at Bilbo as he turned his attention back to the other man.

“We won’t be able to entertain you much on the journey, Master Baggins, and not at all when we reach Ered Luin.”

Bilbo waved a hand, realized he was still holding the waterskin, and drank more. “No no, I don’t need to be entertained like some landlord who does nothing with his days. And if your sister is expecting there will be so much that needs doing. I do know something about babies.”

“I can see you won’t be put off.”

“Stubborn as a Dwarf, that’s me,” Bilbo answered with a nod.

There was that twitch of the lips again, almost a half smile, and Bilbo’s heart skipped a beat. “And that is very stubborn indeed.” Thorin turned away and almost before he knew what was going on, Bilbo found himself hauled up behind him on a pony. “Hold tight.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive in Ered Luin.

Their first night on the road, Thorin unceremoniously wrapped Bilbo in a blanket and walked away. It was– in great need of a wash, but it was warm and it was very nice of the Dwarf to make sure he was taken care of. The next day he realized Thorin was switching out with Dwalin when they traded watch shifts in the night.

This Thorin didn’t have the single minded focus of the one that Bilbo knew. He laughed more and joked with Dwalin and with Bilbo. He was less likely to take offense at things, and cared less about maintaining his honor among others when they passed them. He still hadn’t told Bilbo that he was royalty, although it took some time for Bilbo to realize that.

But he was kind, seeming to understand without words that Bilbo didn’t have a home to go to. And he was willing to talk and become friends. His face wasn’t so closed off, and Bilbo loved the way his mouth twisted into a wry smile, and the way he’d look out of the corner of his eyes to see the reaction to a bit of wordplay.

By the time they arrived in Ered Luin not much more than a week after Bilbo had woken to this new life, he was well and truly in love with Thorin Oakenshield. He said nothing, but part of him was sure that Thorin could tell just from the way he clung to him on the back of the pony.

Strangely, in all of his lives Bilbo had never been to Ered Luin. He looked at it now, eyes wide and amazed to see a bustling town of both Men and Dwarves that was both in and out of the Blue Mountains. He looked at everything - the narrow, winding roads, the market stalls with all of their goods, the people walking and riding everywhere. It wasn’t a wealthy city, nor the richest area, but Ered Luin did well for itself. His fingers tightened in Thorin’s coat so he wouldn’t fall off the pony and get lost.

Dís greeted them as they entered the little home. Her beard was longer than Thorin’s and more decorated, and she was definitely in the later stages of pregnancy. “Thorin,” she greeted, a smile on her lips and in her eyes. “Dwalin!” She saw Bilbo and instantly dropped into wary formality.

“This is Bilbo,” Thorin introduced. “He says he owes us service for picking him up when he was passed out on the road.”

“Oh,” Dís said. She considered hardly a moment and nodded. “There’s dishes to be washed in the kitchen and with the pebble coming I haven’t been able to do the dusting and sweeping as I should.”

Bilbo nodded in return and walked past her toward the back room she had indicated as the kitchen.

“You don’t have to put him to work so easily!” Thorin protested in a hiss behind him.

“If he wants to work I won’t stop him,” Dís answered.

If there was more to the argument, Bilbo didn’t hear it. He looked around the kitchen and couldn’t help but compare it to Bag End. It was smaller, certainly, with a table and chairs taking up most of the free floor space. There were some cabinets and shelves - with more shelves added wherever there was room. The stove and sink stood near each other, well cared for and perhaps even better than what he had known in the Shire. Dwarves were master craftsmen and a wonder with mechanisms.

The sink was full, as Dís had promised, and Bilbo rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and searched for the sponge and soap. A small noise, he was hardly sure what, made him turn. There was nothing to see, until a flash of movement under the table caught his eyes. He got down on the floor and crawled under the table himself.

There was a child there, young enough to only have some downy fluff on his cheeks. In the filtered sunlight, the child’s hair seemed the color of wheat, and Bilbo let out a soft “ooooh” because surely, surely….

“You must be Master Fíli,” he said. “Your uncle is very proud of you.” The boy drifted closer at his words, looking at him with wide wide eyes. “I am Bilbo, and very pleased to be at the service of such a great warrior. Why, I’ve heard you fought off twenty Orcs to save your uncle’s life!”

By the time heavy footsteps entered the kitchen, Fíli was securely in Bilbo’s lap and hearing stories of Fíli the Bold that were highly edited versions of things that had happened on the quest. They both quieted at the intrusion and looked out from their hideaway. Soon enough, Dwalin’s face bent down to smile at them.

“Mistah Dalin!” Fíli crowed, crawling toward him.

Dwalin picked the boy up easily and stood as Bilbo also came out from under the table. “Don’t see many dishes done,” he teased as Fíli tugged his hair.

“I can’t help it if I found something more important to do,” Bilbo teased back. “And it’s not like they’ll take long to do.” He got to work as Dwalin searched the kitchen shelves. “What are you looking for?”

“She always hides the cookies when we’re expected back,” Dwalin explained. “I’ll find them soon enough.”

“Certainly,” Bilbo agreed cheerfully. “It’s not like there’s too much to search through.”

Dwalin stilled. “We do well enough,” he said, a bit of bite in his voice.

It took Bilbo a moment to understand his meaning, and then he hurried to correct. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that! How could I? I’m here only by your good grace and with nothing but the clothes on my back!”

The tension in Dwalin’s shoulders eased - far easier to placate than the Dwalin he was used to, Bilbo noted - and they both fell silent while the hunt continued. For all that it truly was a small kitchen with limited storage, he had finished the dishes by the time Dwalin pulled down the stone jar that held cookies. He held one out, presumably a peace offering, and Bilbo split it with Fíli.

When he went to ask Dís where she kept her broom and dust rags, he found her shaking out clothes and looking at them with more or less disdain.

“We tend to wear things until they fall off our backs, so we’ve nothing to offer you,” she said without looking up. “But the name is good for something, at least, and one of the neighbors has children recently grown. You can try your best and still need to get new clothes twice a year.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said, touched by what she had done for him. “I swear, I will not be a burden to your family.”

“If you’re cleaning my home, you’re already helping,” she said, but her lips were thin when she looked up at him. “We won’t turn you out, Master Baggins, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Not at all, but I will help provide. I can hire out as a house cleaner.” It was said almost in jest, but the more he thought about it the more it seemed possible. “For people who work and can’t take care of it themselves,” he said slowly, testing the germ of the idea as it rooted in his head. “If I price my service low enough for miners and low paid workers can afford it I shouldn’t lack for customers.”

Dís nodded slowly, lips stretching as she thought about it. “Rest a few days and get used to Ered Luin,” she said. “And I’ll help you write a notice.”


End file.
